


Decidedly

by mechanicaljewel



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Community: indeedsir, First Time, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-06
Updated: 2005-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicaljewel/pseuds/mechanicaljewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeeves implies something that bewilders Bertie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decidedly

**Author's Note:**

> A rummy thing, how this one came about. Normally, if I’m having trouble sleeping, I start writing fanfiction in my head, knowing that it is usually bad and boring, and I fall asleep, but this one held on. Inspired by a bit in Neil Gaiman’s American Gods.
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters belong to the estate of P.G. Wodehouse. And he’s spinning in his grave. I swear, there’s an earthquake on Long Island they can’t explain

It all started on a day when I was feeling particularly sunny, God being in His heaven and whatsit, and thus not on Earth posing as a fiancée charging yours truly with some Holy Quest of dog-snatching. I had woken up that morning without the slightest idea what to do that day, and after the good old eggs and b. and morning tea, Jeeves asked if I would be requiring his services presently, sir; I said no and asked to join him on whatever excursion he had planned.   
  
We ended up, as what should have come as no surprise to myself, in a smallish bookstore of Jeeves’s discovery, which was obviously meant for brainy chaps like him as there was only one shelf vaguely labeled “Fiction”, and the rest of the shop had signs indicating subjects such as “Medici Italy” and “Swedish Royalty”. After a brief once-over of the fiction shelf indicated that it was bereft of any chilling murder mysteries, I toddled about until I discovered Jeeves in “German Metaphysics”. I explained the posish and told him that I was going to return to the flat, when he gave his usual cough which implied he was about to say something that Bertram had better listen to or else terrible things would befall him.   
  
“If I might make the suggestion, sir, but this may be the ideal opportunity to perhaps expand your horizons, try something outside of your usual realm of literary pursuits.”   
  
“Oh, well…erm…I suppose…” I blustered, and grabbed a book off the shelf at random. It was called Being and Time, and before I could get bewildered over what it meant, I became more bewildered over how to pronounce the chap’s name. Jeeves, as usual, came to Bertram’s aid.   
  
“I don’t think Heidegger would be quite to your tastes,” he said, easing the book from my baffled fingers.   
  
“Er, oh, right, well you know best Jeeves!” and I set course for the fiction shelf once more.   
  
About an hour and a more thorough search later, Jeeves and I left the shop, him with a book by one of the German metaphysicists, myself with a novel taking place in American colonial times, where a British servant girl is transported to America as an indentured servant because her lover nicked some of her employer’s silver. It had promise of some intrigue.   
  
Two weeks later, after a daring escape back to England, a life of thieving and picking pockets, recapture and retransportation, the heroine of my novel had just been quite improperly propositioned by her master. She managed to turn it into a marriage proposal instead, and I realized that all women must have that gift of tricking men into proposing, not just my fiancées, if this writer chap was writing about it. But still, quite a rummy thing, that bit. I called Jeeves, and he materialized before mine eyes, whereupon I explained everything which I mentioned previously and asked him, “So, what do you think, Jeeves? Have you ever heard of that sort of thing happening to any parlourmaids or cooks you know?”   
  
“I have known of a few cases where propositions were made, but only rare cases that led to actual impropriety, and never to any young ladies of my own acquaintance.”   
  
The fact that there were any disturbed me quite a bit, but there wasn’t anything I could do but defend my own household. “So, no one ever…well, that is to say, not to you?”   
  
“No sir. I only work for unmarried gentlemen, and all of my previous employers have been decidedly heterosexual.”   
  
It is hard to organize one’s thoughts after getting hit by a train like that. My first vaguely coherent thought involved none-to-slight astonishment that Jeeves so frankly alluded to such activities usually only heard of in public school dormitories. I then worked out a certain implication in his phrasing.   
  
“What do you mean ‘all of your previous employers’? That does not include me, in case you didn’t notice, and I…” I trailed off, flustered and feeling the old visage turn several shades of purple and green.   
  
Jeeves tried to redeem himself by filling in the gap that my floundering had left in the conversation with a simple excuse. “Sir, forgive me, I meant nothing scandalous with my remarks. I simply meant—”   
  
“But nothing, Jeeves!” I exclaimed, having finally regrown my tongue. “I know you too well, Jeeves. You are the most intelligent and eloquent man I know.”   
  
“Why, thank you, sir.”   
  
“I wasn’t finished! The point is that when you say something, you bally well know every possible way it may be interpreted, and you choose your words very carefully. You can’t pull one over on old Bertram, no sir. We’ve been together for too long.”   
  
“While I am flattered by your description of my manner of speech, sir, I must ask that you understand that even I can make mistakes. I misspoke, nothing more.”   
  
“Impossible, Jeeves!” I cried. “You are perfect!”   
  
And with that, I leapt from my chair and vaulted at the door to dine at the Drones.   
  


* * *

  
Tucking myself into a corner under a hail of dinner rolls, I called for a double whisky and soda, hold the soda, shoved the whole thing down the gullet in one fell swoop, and sent for another. It was at that time that cruel Fate saw fit to send Barmy Fotheringay-Phips to Bertram’s side.   
  
“Hullo, Bertie. Care to be the bowler tonight?” Barmy greeted me in an insufferably normal manner. Couldn’t he tell I had a lot on my mind?   
  
“I have a lot on my mind, Barmy.”   
  
I realized the violent error in judgment in coming here to think, what with all the old school chums and dinner-roll cricket.   
  
“Oh, it’s not that big of a decision, it’s just that Soupy Stuart tripped over a canoe last weekend and sprained his wrist, and we need someone else.”   
  
I let out a drastic sigh. “Yes, yes, well bully for whomever you find to replace Soupy, but I am not he.”   
  
After Barmy shuffled off, I decided that if I could not think here, I would simply drink here.   
  


* * *

  
I woke up with Thor’s hammer pounding away at the particularly squishy parts of the inside of the bean. Jeeves stood bedside holding his priceless restorative. Unable to do much of any thinking besides reminding myself of the necessity of breathing, the strange course of our literary discussion of the evening previous had slipped my mind temporarily. After downing the lifesaving concoction and retrieving the tongue from region of the feet, Jeeves set down the breakfast tray, then let out a slight cough, this one the kind that meant he had something dashed important to ask me.   
  
“Yes, Jeeves?”   
  
“Not to press you too soon after a late evening, sir, but I was wondering if you recall what you said to me when you returned last night.”   
  
After a moment of reflection and dull nails being driven into the onion, I replied, “No, afraid not, Jeeves. What did I say?”   
  
“If I recall correctly, sir, you demanded to know, I quote, ‘where do you get off figuring me out before I do?’ I must admit you have me rather puzzled, sir.”   
  
A few more swings of the hammer and Thor convinced me not to mull over it quite yet. Jeeves’ restorative was obviously not meant to handle immediate brain activity, especially after last night’s record-breaking binge.   
  
“Not more than me, Jeeves. I’ll try and work it out by dinner, what?”   
  
“Very good, sir.”   
  
“I really said that, Jeeves?”   
  
“Yes, sir,”   
  
“Rummy.”   
  
“Quite, sir.”   
  
And with that, I tucked into the e. and b, and Jeeves shimmered away.   
  


* * *

  
After breakfast, bathing, and brushing (of both hair and tooth varieties), I decided to go for a stroll to clear the head and figure out what I was talking about. My aimless meandering brought me to the storefront of the very same bookshop that started this whole affair, and everything up to Barmy’s departure came crashing out of the closet.   
  
So, taking what Jeeves said late afternoon yesterday and what I said late last night, only one conclusion came to mind.   
  
But it didn’t make sense!   
  
Did it?   
  
So I started at the beginning. Why had I fled after Jeeves made his implication? After some thought, it was apparent my flight wasn’t because of its scandalous and criminal connotations, nor was it any defense of my masculinity, for what it is. As I recalled the event, I tried recalling the exact emotion.   
  
Panic? Fear? But why?   
  
Because I’d been figured out?   
  
I tried again. Had I ever had any remotely Greek private thoughts? After public school, I meant. Not counting any nostalgia for those days. Nor even when such nostalgia was inspired by someone who wasn’t such a school chum.   
  
Like Jeeves.   
  
No, after all, I greatly respect and admire Jeeves. And he takes such good care of me. There’s nothing unusual with a gentleman feeling slightly tingly when his valet, whom he greatly respects and admires and who takes such good care of him, fixes his cuffs and adjusts his tie. One couldn’t call that even vaguely Wildean, not even when the gentleman deliberately musses up his clothes so that his valet will fix them.   
  
And I found myself thinking that sometimes I wished Jeeves would let his clothes get mussed up, so I could fix them up for him. But alas, he is always immaculate, always perfect. At that point in my musings, I noticed my reflection in the shop window.   
  
I was smiling more soppily than Madeleine Bassett when she declared that the stars are God’s daisy chain.   
  
“Rum!” I cried, and ran back to the flat.   
  
I burst in the door and found Jeeves tidying up the kitchen. “Sir—” he started.   
  
“Jeeves!” I interrupted. “About what you said yesterday afternoon…”   
  
“Ah, yes, sir, let me explain. I merely drew from Herodotus’s aphorism ‘Call no man happy until he is dead’ which simply means that one cannot generalise about a man’s life until it is certain the man has not the chance to contradict what has happened up to that point. I apologise profusely if I have applied that philosophy too liberally in regards to the tenure of my positions of employ.”   
  
“That all sounded rather rehearsed, Jeeves.”   
  
“I have been feeling quite ashamed of causing you such emotional discomfort, sir. I merely wished to state clearly my intentions, and will seek other employ if you wish, sir.”   
  
“We’ll discuss that after a certain matter has been decidely settled.”   
  
And with that, I flung myself around his head and pressed my lips to his. It seemed to cause him some initial shock, but Jeeves wasted very little time in responding in kind, running his tongue over mine, wrapping his arms around me, pressing me tightly to him, stroking my back, his hands lingering on my hips. When we finally broke for air, I panted, “Well, Jeeves?”   
  
With his forehead pressed against mine, he murmured, “You are decidely different from all of my previous employers. And I wish to remain in your employ, sir.”   
  
“Jolly good,” I said, and I pulled him towards the bedroom.   
  
We fell onto the bed, already entwined and half-disrobed. Jackets laid abandoned in the corridor, ties untied, buttons unbuttoned, belts unbelted, shoes unshoed. We adjusted ourselves on the mattress, Jeeves on top of me, kissing my jaw, my neck, my chest, as my shirt lay open.   
  
“Ahhh!” I cried, finding surprising pleasure in the way his tongue curled around my nipples, slowly devouring each of them in turn. And as he worked his way lower, he eased off my shirt completely, finishing the job just in time to reach my trousers and render me completely incapable of intelligent speech as he kissed and licked every inch of lower abdomen that he exposed.   
  
I wanted to do something for him, but he was firmly in charge of the situation, and all I could do was pull at the shoulders of his shirt, moaning. In a flicker of the eyes, he too was shirtless, just in time. For his eloquent tongue was no less skilled with the most delicate of organs as it is with the English language, leaving me uttering only short gasps and sharp, gutteral cries.   
  
Oh, it was getting so close…   
  
It was too early for things to end…   
  
“Je-JeeEEVes!” I squealed most effeminately at a slight interruption of my attempt at speech. “Want you… in—” I couldn’t get any more out, but Jeeves understood. As he removed his own trousers, he slid from his pocket a small bottle of olive oil that he must have pocketed on our way out of the kitchen without my noticing. Hardly suprising, considering that tongue.   
  
He coated his fingers, and as he rose back up to kiss me on the lips again, he slid them between my legs and I lifted up the old stilts to help him get where he was going. As his fingers slipped inside, my face went slack and I found my lips around his chin. As the digits began to move in and out, I sucked on his chin for a moment, then gaining some control, worked my way up his jawline. When I reached his ear, I gasped, “Please, Jeeves, now.”   
  
Reflexively, I suppose, in anticipation, he increased the pressure as his fingers slid out. The vision blurred and I felt outside of time, thought I vaguely noted him rubbing oil over his hardness.   
  
I braced myself for his entrance. It was characteristically gentle and easy, though not without a moderate sting. That became easy to ignore as he hit that spot. And when he hit it again, and I tightly curled my legs around his hips, pressing him in as best I could. He buried his face into my neck, alternately sucking and murmuring “Bertie—oh, Bertie”.   
  
I pressed into his thrusts, my hands around his neck and in his hair. We were both getting closer, I could feel it. He suddenly grasped my own hardness, his hand shaking on the way, and still slightly vibrating as it held me. He stroked, I clenched, and we climaxed together, collapsing into a sweaty, oily, sticky heap.   
  
As soon as he had the energy, Jeeves rolled off of me and lay beside me. I snuggled in, laying my back to his chest. He put an arm around me. After a while, I spoke.   
  
“That was precisely what this household needed.”   
  
“Indeed, sir. I trust it gave satisfaction?”   
  
“Oh, rather, Jeeves. I hope the same for you?”   
  
“I feel quite fulfilled, sir, thank you.”   
  
“Definitely no leaving, then?”   
  
“Of course not, sir.”   
  
“Dashed wonderful. By the way, Jeeves, did I really accuse you of figuring me out last night?”   
  
“No, sir. I hope this revelation does not change your opinion of recent events.”   
  
“By Jove, no. After all, you had figured me out, hadn’t you?”   
  
“So your affection remains the same?”   
  
“Well, no.”   
  
“No, sir?”   
  
“Oh, stop trembling. Affection is merely the wrong term. I much prefer the word ‘love’. I love you, Jeeves. Yes, that sounds right.”   
  
“Sir… Bertie—I love you too.”   
  
“Decidedly?”   
  
“Decidedly.”


End file.
